Nothing but the Truth
by DellyO
Summary: What with the amber eyes that haunt her dreams becoming a reality, and the worry that her best friend may see her as something more, Clary is understandably confused. When she wakes up in an unknown bed surrounded by tales of Vampires, Werewolves and Shadowhunters she thinks someone must be playing a practical joke. Fast forward in time, her only thoughts on that are: If only.


**Hey guys! Delly here! So this is my first Mortal Instruments fanfiction on my own. (I started one with 'TheAsgardianShadowhunter - Or Tas, which only has two chapters. It's still on-going though, when I eventually upload..)**

**I do a lot of writing in first person, and find third kind of awkward, so I'm attempting to convert Clary's POV into first. Don't be too harsh on me, my third person is absolutely pants..**

**This is kind of a 'prologuey' sort of thing, just to start the story off. Hopefully it'll get better from here.. Or at least more interesting..**

**Disclaimer: **Sadly The Mortal Instruments *CoughJaceCough* is not, and never will be mine. Except my copy of the books.. They're mine. SO SUE ME FOR THE PRINGLES THAT I HAVE.

**(Hopefully) Enjoy!**

**Clary's Point of View.**

The dream that I had last night was a recurring one.

I had it almost every night, and I had done for the past month or so. It wasn't a bad dream; I wasn't turning up at school with no clothes on or being chased by some unknown figure. It was confusing, but it had become so familiar to me that I almost welcomed it now.

Whenever I dreamt of anything else it felt wrong somehow.

The dream always started off in a dark place. That was without fail.

The places tended to differ slightly, sometimes I was outdoors, sometimes I was indoors, a familiar place or a place that I didn't know, that I'd probably made up. In all honesty, I was never entirely sure where the dream was set.

I would be on my own in this place, usually looking around – what for, I don't know, but that's how it always went, and then I would see them.

These beautiful amber eyes, the colour of honey, which seemed to stand out through the dark, like they were glowing. I could never tell who the eyes belonged to, the details I had of the face beyond the eyes, were kind of sketchy.

He was male, I knew that much.

His hair I couldn't be sure of, it seemed to be shielded by the dark. He was always in the shadows, as if he didn't want to be seen. The only features of him that were absolutely definite were his eyes, and his smile. He had one small kind of endearing chip on his left incisor.

After that, the dream would either go in one of two directions. He would take my hand in his and curl his fingers between mine, palm to palm, leaving the top of my hand facing upwards.

He would then pull this… pen I guess, it doesn't seem like the right word, out of the darkness; it was metal, embellished with swirling black patterns. Then, he would persist to draw one, on the top of my hand.

The sensations I had whenever he touched my hand seemed so real. I could almost feel the jolts of electric his touch caused, and the stinging as I was being tattooed.

Alternatively, he would hand me a blade, almost he length of a sword.

It was a bright sparkling silver with one glistening gemstone encased by the sword connecting to the hilt. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with the blade, or what the tattoo meant, because after either of those would happen, I would wake up.

Every single time.

I've tried to draw what I could see in the dream, but as I said before, most of the details are sketchy. So sketchy, I couldn't actually sketch them. I always ended up with four things.

A sword, a tattoo, a smile with a chipped tooth, and a pair of amber eyes.

I could now draw them all to absolute perfection, without even thinking about it.

**XXX**

"CLARY!" My Mom's voice broke through Joe Brooks'.

I pulled my headphones out of my ears and heard her call again. "Clary, Simon's here!" I really don't know why she bothers informing me of this. He would just be sent through anyway.

As predicted, heavy footed footsteps made their way across the hall. After three louder longer knocks and three quiet short ones, my best friend made his way into my room and plonked himself on my bed.

"Hi." He said after a minute of shuffling around to get comfortable. "Did I interrupt your jamming session?" He picked up my iPod and wrinkled his nose when he saw Joe Brooks. "I thought you had better taste than that Clary."

I rolled my eyes. "And what would that be? Listening to Eric murder Kings of Leon songs?"

Simon and his dungeons and dragons friends (Eric, Matt and Kirk) started up a band a few years ago, and whilst Simon's pretty good at bass and Matt and Kirk are fairly good at keyboard and drums, I don't know who thought it would be a good idea to let Eric loose near a microphone.

"Ouch." Simon winced.

"I'll have you know, that Lawn Chair Crisis is doing rather well at the moment; in fact we have a couple of gigs lined up, despite Eric's singing."

He paused for a moment before carrying on. "_Anyway_, speaking of Eric-"

"-No." I replied quickly. I knew what was coming.

"You don't even know what I was going to say." He retorted.

"I'm not going to one of Eric's poetry readings. His poetry's worse than his singing, and that's saying something!"

"Oh come on Clary! You're his friend! Go give him some support!" Simon said nudging him.

"Since when was I promoted to his friend? I'm your friend, and go to poke you when you fall asleep." I laughed.

There had been more than one occasion that Simon had fallen asleep at one of Eric's readings. Simon, the boy who can stay interested throughout an hour of organic chemistry, and can still muster up the enthusiasm to talk about it afterwards.

That's how boring Eric's poetry was.

"I see that you're not being swayed on this one." Simon sighed dramatically. "Okay then, I'll have to put up with it on my _own_. All by myself. Listening to Eric's poetry."

"You're really not going to guilt trip me on this one you know." I laughed. "Those things are so boring, feeling guilty is a better alternative."

"Fine, but we're practising on Saturday, can you come listen? Y'know, seeing as you're abandoning me tonight and whatnot…" Simon trailed off.

I found myself agreeing. I did feel bad, leaving him to suffer Eric's reading alone, but to be honest I'd rather sit and watch paint dry.

Which I frequently did, what with my Mom being an artist and everything.

**XXX**

Simon left soon after that, to get ready for Eric's reading, and I lay back down on my bed, hoping to continue listening to my iPod, which I did for about ten minutes, until my Mom called me through to the kitchen.

She and Luke were stood together at the counter drinking coffee.

Luke was her best friend, and like a father to me, seeing as I never knew my own. He had also, quite obviously been in love with my Mom for years, but she was somehow too dense to notice it.

Luke drained his cup and stood up just as I walked into the room. He said goodbye to my Mother and turned to the door. When he noticed me, he ruffled my hair and grinned before exiting.

"Come on Mom. You have really got to stop stringing that poor guy along." I sighed shaking my head.

How could you not notice that? The way he looked at her. If anyone looked at me like that, I'd be sure to notice. He quite simply adored her.

"What do you mean?" She asked, clearly puzzled.

My Mom is an extremely smart woman, creative too, but sometimes I just have to wonder if she's inhaled too many paint fumes.

"I mean, that Luke is in love with you Mom."

She shook her head at me. "Luke's my friend Clary, nothing more. Anyway, you're not one to talk, not when you treat Simon the very same."

"Simon's like my brother." He's cute, in a geeky sort of way. Adorkable I guess, but Simon didn't feel that way about me, and I certainly would never feel like that about him. As I said, he's like my brother, that'd be too weird.

"But does he see you as a sister?" She asked before shaking her head. "Anyway, I called you down here, because I'm selling one of my paintings, and have to go round to drop it off. I'll be an hour, maybe two, tops."

I nodded at her, still thinking of her earlier question. Simon might not see me as a sister, but he does see me as a best friend. Nothing more.

We've been best friends for nine years, if he felt otherwise, he would've told me right?

"Bye then Clary." Mom picked up her keys, and kissed the top of my head. "I'll see you soon. Don't cook anything, I know how bad you are." She ruffled my hair.

"See you later." With that, she left.

**So that's it my chums! Please review, tell me if you liked it, if you didn't. (And why.) **

**Toodles!**


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